


Eight Wheel Amity

by Scopareilmondo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Multi, Roller Derby, derby queens, so precious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:50:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scopareilmondo/pseuds/Scopareilmondo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein is a rebellious rich kid, determined to become the best at the thing his parents hate the most - he plans to become a roller derby icon by joining the Trost Titans, arguably the best team in the country.</p><p>Marco Bodt is a quiet boy with huge dreams. He wants to skate for the Titans, a team he has personal history with.</p><p>They're both broken, they're both fragile and they both need something to cling to, but in the derby world, nothing stays in one piece forever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Wheel Amity

Normally, French History is bearable. I mean, it isn't _great_ , but I could sit through 2 hours of lectures before I started wanting to pop my own eyeballs out with the set square my mother had _insisted_ I would need. Today, though - today was different. It was too fucking hot to be sat in a room with 80 other people, plus a wrinkly old man who won't stop talking and an overhead projector that was threatening to give us all second degree burns. Proffeseur Desrosiers was a decent guy, and a pretty great teacher, but his thick accent never failed to turn his lectures into degree level games of charades; sometimes he gave in completely and started trying to teach us in French, which went about as well as you would expect.

Pulling my phone out to check the time, I put my pen down on the pad of paper sat in front of me and resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be able to get any more notes down in the half an hour I had left. The people sat around me were also completely done, some staring blankly at the screen, currently displaying a painting of the Battle of Vouillé bright enough to give you a headache (the guy in front of me had groaned when Desrosiers had flicked to the slide, suddenly becoming very interested in the lines scored onto the paper in front of him), whereas others had given up the pretence of politeness and had their phones out openly, scrolling through their newsfeed, or sending snapchats or playing some shitty mobile game, whatever floated their boat. From behind me I could even hear a conversation, the people involved not even bothering to lower their voices. I could only see 4 people still managing to take notes - kudos to them, they were made of tougher stuff than I.

Even Desrosiers seemed tired of teaching, and he had all but given up by the time our alotted lecture time was up and he waved us out of the classroom with a weak "au revoir". With a sigh I grabbed my bag and swung it over my shoulder, not bothering to apologise to the girl I had hit it with. I honestly didn't get the impression that she cared all that much, the heat making us desperate to return back to our dorms for a long, cold shower.

I ran a hand through my hair as I joined the horde of students created by the bottleneck of the door, trying to flick the long blonde strands that hung over my eyes away, but the moment I let go they fell back into place. Definitely time for a hair cut, especially with the hot weather that was rolling over Trost at the moment. There was nothing worse than having gross, sweaty hair stuck to your neck during the summer. Just as I stepped out of the classroom and draw my first breath as a liberated man, a heavy weight hit me in the centre of the chest, knocking all of the breath out of my lungs with an undignified "unf".

I looked down to confront the asshole who had hit me, and saw a short bald guy wearing a pair of shorts and a purple t-shirt that read 'people like grapes', looking rather pissed off as he held a large black backpack to my chest. Connie Springer, asshole dormmate number one.

"You're welcome."

I stared down at him, my mouth hanging open at first before a deep scowl formed on my face, grabbing whatever it was he was pushing into me and flipping open the top flap of the backpack. I kept my eyes trained on Connie as I reached in and rummaged around, trying to figure out what was in the bag he had given me.

"The fuck, Connie?! What was so important that you had to fucking assault me the mo-"

I stopped as my fingers hit something familiar, a solid curving slope with thin layers of slightly sticky fabric stretched over the top. I grabbed it and pulled it out, frown deepening as I examined one of my knee pads, hockey tape stuck over the surface of the plate. Gritting my teeth I looked back over to Connie, who was now leaning against the wall, smiling smugly.  
"Connie," I started, dropping the pad back into the bag. "Why the fuck have you bought all of my derby stuff?"

Connie continued to examine the non-existent dirt under his nails, refusing to meet my gaze.

"What day is it today, Jean?" He asked, a patronising tone colouring his voice.

"It's fucking Thursday, Connie!" I yelled, throwing my hands in the air and rolling my eyes. Then, a wave of realisation hit me like a motherfucking brick. "Shit."

"You're welcome."

\---

The best thing about the roller rink is the air conditioning. The moment Connie and I stepped in, the cold air hit us like the most pleasant slap in the face ever. Across the room was the bench we usually sat at, our friends waving as they caught sight of us as we walked towards them. Most of them were already wearing their pads, and were starting to lace up their skates when Connie and I put our bags down, and started to kit up. Connie being the fucking annoying but merciful sporting commitment god he was, he had packed my skins and a t-shirt for me to get changed into, to save me from getting my jeans and button down shirt combo even sweatier. 

Once changed I sat down next to Connie, who was fiddling with his wristguards and started to pull my elbow pads on when Sasha practically threw herself over Connie's lap, resting her elbows on the bench space between us and staring up at me, resting her chin in her hands.

"So... Jeanny boy." I internally winced as she used the nickname she knew I hated and refused to look down at her, pulling the velcro straps tight and then reaching for the next pad, shimmying it up my arm.

"Sasha," I said, more as a begrudging acceptance that she was talking to me than a cue for her to continue.

"Try outs are next week. Word on the track is that you're guaranteed a place in our fresh meat intake this year..." She sounded like a proud mother as she cooed, her head rocking in her palms in time with her sing song voice.

Connie leaned on her back, grinning over at me. Everyone presumed that the two of them were a couple - I couldn't really blame them, to be honest. Sometimes, the way they moved as one without communicating was creepy, and when they were both playing as blockers they were a force to be reckoned with, creating and collapsing defensive structures and making plays without letting you know what they were about to do. It was a pain in the ass when you were jamming and trying to make an impression on your coach, and the two pricks kept cutting you off.

"Yeah man, you've got the best chance out of everybody trying out this year." He said, and a small smiled played across my face, my eyes flicking away from the laces on my skates for a second so I could look up at my best friends, shaking my head. 

"Nah, that's bullshit. Everyone who's been coming deserves to get on the team. Especially the male half of Springles." I nudged them both, smiling down at the floor as I concentrated on tying my laces, wrapping them around my ankles and back through the top eyelets in the way that I liked. Sasha had been skating with the Trost Titans for 2 months before we had met her, and she and Connie had got on like a house on fire immediately. 

I was reaching around to grab my helmet, black and glossy with a red hawk on the side and a sticker of a horse winking over the hawk's wings, and my mouthguard (also black and red - I'm a sucker for colour coordination) when I felt the bench sink slightly on the other side of me. What was intended to be a sneaky glance in the direction of whoever had sat down next to me turned into a full on stare, my eyes going wide as I took in the sight of the boy hurriedly pulling equipment out of his bag. His hair was relatively long and a very dark brown, so dark it was almost black. He wore it split down the middle in a centre parting that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else; I wasn't entirely sure that it didn't look ridiculous on him. 

The boy looked up and smiled as he caught my eyes on him, a light flush colouring his cheeks, which I noticed were dusted with freckles.

"Hey," he said quietly, a gentle smile pulling up the corners of his mouth as he nodded his head in my direction, hands hovering over the straps of his wristguard.

_Okay Jean, try not to fuck this up. Be nice to the new guy, try not to act like a complete and utter pri-_

"Who the fuck are you?"

_God fucking dammit._

**Author's Note:**

>  **Rewritten**  
>  Mainly due to the fact that I read what I had originally posted back, and it literally made me shudder.  
> I have a new laptop that actually has a h key now, so hopefully updates will be more regular, and the chapters will be longer~


End file.
